


I Can See Clearly Now!

by TMar



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMar/pseuds/TMar
Summary: Picard discovers why he's having such a bad day: it's his fans.





	I Can See Clearly Now!

**Author's Note:**

> Self-referential silliness. I post it simply for the sake of completion. It might make a bit of sense if you've read some of my other Picard/Crusher stories. We wrote this in April 1992. (For the record I was the one wearing the "25 Years" T-shirt.)
> 
> Basically another Trope-on-Parade.

I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW! 

Captain Jean-Luc Picard opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. This was not his quarters and this was definitely not his bed. He certainly had no idea whose cream, satin nighdress was lying over the comfy chair. 

He shook his head as if to clear his mind. The last thing he remembered was reading Othello before he climbed into his own bed and went to sleep. How did he get here?

He looked around the room and noticed a picture on the dresser. Getting up, he walked over and picked it up. It was a photo of a small child - he recognised the child immediately as Wesley.

And then realisation dawned... He was in Beverly Crusher's quarters! But where was she?

Just then the doors opened and in she stepped, looking tired, distracted and in definate need of 24 hours uninterrupted sleep. Her face mirrored the shock she felt when she saw him standing in her bedroom, especially as he was only wearing the smallest of sleeping shorts. 

"Captain?" she asked hesitantly. "Is there something wrong?"

Picard felt embarrased, and he didn't usually experience that emotion. "I'm not sure... I went to bed last night - in my own bed.." he stressed the latter, "and I woke up here, this morning." 

Beverly looked surprised. 

"But I don't know how I got here!"

She shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea either. I've been in Sickbay all night. Molly O'Brien had croup. It's one of those childhood ailments that we still haven't come up with an instant cure for." 

Picard nodded. Actually, the situation would be quite hilarious if it wasn't so embarrassing, Picard thought to himself. Here we stand - ME half unclothed - in HER quarters, talking about childhood croup, as though it was the most natural thing in the world!

"Captain, perhaps you... sleep-walked?" Beverly asked hesitantly.

Picard had had enough. He looked around for his jacket - or something - so that he could return to his quarters; and in his haste, he tripped over the edge of the bed, and fell to the ground - catching his arm on the edge - and feeling the pain of the impact shooting up his arm. "Ouch!"

Beverly was at his side. She took the injured arm in her hands and began checking it. "It's broken. We'll need to get you to Sickbay."

This was not going to be a good day, thought Picard.

As he walked into the turbolift on his way to the bridge, Picard thanked his lucky stars that he lived in the 24th century where it took only moments to fix a broken bone. Beverly, with her usual efficiency, had repaired the broken bone quickly, and had returned to her quarters for that much-needed rest. Neither had said anything more about his stay in her room. It was best forgotten.

Suddenly, the turbolift jerked and increased in speed. Picard found himself thrown to the floor, unable to get up due to the G-force. Then, just as suddenly the turbolift stopped, the doors opened, and Picard was hurled onto the bridge. He groaned as his breath was knocked out of him, and he felt his ribs crack. "What the hell is happenening to me today?" he asked himself as he tried to lift himself up.

Riker was at his side. "Bridge to Sickbay. Medical assistance needed here urgently."

So, once again, Picard found himself in Sickbay. When Beverly heard that the captain had been injured, she hurried back to attend to him.

"You're very accident prone today, Captain." Gently she probed his ribcage. "Mmm. Third one broken... fourth and fifth cracked. You'll need to rest a while. This won't be mended as easily as a wrist."

Picard wanted to protest, but the pain emanating from his chest kept him quiet. Instead, he found himself reaching up with his hand to Beverly and pulling her down towards him. His lips met hers and, although he enjoyed the the sensation and could tell that she enjoyed it too, he still wondered why he was doing this.

The pain in his side became unbearable from the exertion and he felt himself passing out...

When suddenly, the room was filled with a bright light. Picard looked up to see the white light of an Organian hovering above the Sickbay bed. *Do you not understand yet, Captain?* it asked.

"No, I do not," responded Picard. "Why would all this happen to me? The odds against it must be phenomenal."

*Come with me,* the energy being said, and Picard, noticing that his ribs no longer hurt, got up off the diagnostic bed and followed the light. 

The Organian led him down the ship's corridor towards the turbolift. The turbolift door opened, but there was only a gap, and then another door, which was open. *Come, Captain,* said the Organian, and Picard followed.

The door opened onto what seemed to be a primitive [ie. late 20th century] lounge. Three women sat in the room - one on the couch and two at a table. The place was littered with paper, coffee mugs, a biscuit tin, empty packets [which said FRITOS on them] and tape casings of some sort.

Picard was stunned to see himself - or an image of himself - on their viewscreen! He recognised the events as those that had happened to him when he'd been held captive by the unnamed aliens who had made a duplicate of him.

Picard merely stood there in stunned silence and watched those well-remembered events unfold. He saw himself visiting Riker's poker game and heard the conversation he'd had with Deanna Troi.

Then something even more amazing happened - he saw Beverly, looking absolutely stunning, having dinner with his replica.

"Stop this!" he said to the Organian, but the being said nothing. 

Picard turned back to the scene. Beverly was telling the replica that she was comfortable with their relationship the way it was. Just then, one of the women jumped up and yelled, "Don't listen to her, Jean-Luc! She's lying! She's testing you! Just grab her and kiss her!"

The other woman at the table merely rolled her eyes and said, "Calm down, will you." Then she sighed. "Damn the man! Why doesn't he take his shirt off?" Both women made swooning movements.

"WHAT!" shouted Picard.

The two giggled, and Picard noticed that they were both wearing T-shirts with Starships on it. The one said 25 YEARS and the other was emblazoned with STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.

"Isn't he sexy?" said 25 Years.

"My toes are curling..." responded Star Trek. "I wonder if he ever had hair?" she went on.

"Who cares!" said the other. "With a chest like that!!!"

"Ooh, baby!" they both yelled.

Picard wondered if he'd lost his mind. The only sane woman in the room sat on the couch, but she, too, wore a badge saying Star Trek. And she seemed a little too interested in the events on the viewscreen...

"What are they doing? Who are they? And where did they get records of that occasion?" Picard indicated the screen, only hearing the end of the exchange about Riker's beard.

The extreme shock, however, came when the Picard replica began singing in Ten-Forward. His detached mind said, "So that's what Will meant," but the rest of him became indignant. The women in the room, at this stage, were screaming with laughter and saying, "Oh no! Oh my goodness!"

Picard became angrier, but it was an 'Oh no, what are they doing to me?' kind of anger.

Shortly, that mission over, titles - like those of an old movie! - came up listing 'Costume designers' and 'Set designers' and so forth. Picard didn't have time to digest this properly before the two at the table began talking very, very quickly. He had to strain to catch everything.

"Let's do a follow up story... The replica went to her quarters later..."

"Yeah, yeah and then she falls pregnant..."

"Right! But is it Picard's kid or not?...

"He'll have to accept it, it'll have his genes..."

"Yes, but he DIDN'T DO IT!.." 

"He wanted to, though!"

Star Trek looked at the other. "You realise he has to get hurt, or else Essobgi won't like it."

"It has to make sense, otherwise the audience will be very limited," went on 25 years.

"But," said Star Trek in a whiny tone, "there has to be some romance or I'll be so depressed." She waved a rather large fork around.

"Give me that!" The two fought over the fork for a while, leaving Picard wondering if he hadn't been brought to a mental asylum by mistake.

"He has to get hurt, have a good adventure, and end up in bed with Beverly!" said Star Trek triumphantly.

"Okay," sighed the other.

"Well, start writing!"

"Arg!" said the other. "Okay," and she sighed. "Do you know how many stories I've written in the last year that have Picard getting hurt and ending up with Beverly?"

"So?" said the other, as if that was the whole point of life.

By this time Picard had had enough. He slumped to the floor. "Please," he asked the Organian, "tell me what is going on..."

*The reason for your getting hurt and molesting your chief medical officer is due to the writings and wishes of people like these. They call themselves fans,* the Organian said.

"Fans?"

*Fanatics.*

"Oh," replied Picard, it all suddenly making sense. "But why do they want to hurt me like that? It doesn't seem as if they hate or despise me..." he mused.

*You are correct, Captain. They do not hate you, they love you.* 

"Then, WHY?" asked Picard.

*You always hurt the one you love,* said the Organian. *They hurt you in order to see some reaction, Captain. And they do it so that you may be comforted by Doctor Crusher. They want you and Doctor Crusher to be together.*

"Why?" asked Picard, happy that he now had some way of making sense of the situation.

*They are incurable romantics, that is why. And they are obsessive,* added the Organian.

"How do they know about me?" This had suddenly occurred to the captain.

*To them, your life is a fictional television series called "Star Trek: The Next Generation".*

The T-shirts now made sense to Picard. "So they have control over my life, then," he concluded.

*No, but they think they do, and sometimes their thoughts affect you, as they did today.*

"I think I need to lie down," said Jean-Luc, suddenly tired of the entire affair.

*Very well, Captain, but do not mention this to your crew. They do not need to know what happened... happened... happened..."

"What happened to you, Captain?" came Riker's voice, as he bent over the diagnostic bed. Riker stood on one side of him, and Beverly Crusher was on the other with her hand on his chest. Picard noticed it immediately, and jerked away so quickly that he fell off the bed... hurting his poor sore ribs even more. "Please!" he yelled at the ceiling, "that's enough!"

Riker and Crusher helped him up, back onto the bed. "Captain, are you all right?" Picard, having heard something about Riker having to stay away from razors, noticed that his First Officer did indeed look much better with a beard...

And he also now knew why he kept ending up in Beverly Crusher's room, kissing her, and so on. Not that he didn't want to, of course... But all he said was: "I'm fine, Number One. I now know why this has happened to me."

At their questioning look, he merely said, "It would take too long to explain."

"You need to rest, Jean-Luc," said Beverly.

"All right." Picard lay back and closed his eyes, trying not to envision Beverly wearing that little cream nightdress he'd seen draped over the chair in her quarters. He couldn't resist one little comment, however. "I've been a victim of obsessed fans," he said, and into the back of his mind came a little thought: that from now on he should go shirtless as often as possible....

THE END


End file.
